Stupid Alien Movie Alert!

I went to see District 9 on the weekend. I love a great science fiction film, and it's been a very very long time between drinks. Unfortunately this was one of the worst I've ever seen.

Not only was the plot full of holes, but there were storylines that didn't make sense, unbelievably stereotypical characters and an extreme overuse of hand-held cameras. Even the non-action scenes bobbed from side to sea-sick side. By the end of the film I actually felt a little nauseous.

It was presented as though it was a documentary, but that pretense fell apart when they included scenes of aliens conspiring in private. There was a protagonist I longed for the aliens to kill (slowly and painfully), supposedly intelligent aliens who could travel interstellar distances but couldn't organise their own homes or do much more than scamper through dumps (I felt no sympathy for their plight at all), and, unbelievably, alien 'petrol' that supposedly turned humans into fully biological aliens. Yeah, right. Move out of the 40s, guys.

And then, to top it all off, two thirds of the way through the film suddenly turned into Transformers.

So many unanswered questions - none of which made you think, just made you believe the production team was working from an early draft of an unfinished script.

I loved the idea, I hated the execution. Setting it in South Africa was extremely obvious but I could have coped with that if the supposed themes and messages (racism and apartheid) hadn't been shoved down our throats so forcibly by the director.

Give it a miss. As the sign says, Do Not Enter!

To Sleep, Perchance To Sleep.

The Little Shop of Horrors has finished its week-long run. We did the final show, made the speeches and presentations, got rid of the cast and bumped out. The kids were all buzzing like they'd had nothing but caffeine drinks for a week - hmmm, now I think of it that's all I saw them drinking around the backstage area.

We waved goodbye to the last of the sets as they were loaded into a trailer and slowly disappeared into the darkness over the car park speed bumps - in stark contrast to the driver we saw the night before who bounced over the speed bumps while still accelerating. After thanking the staff at the community centre, the crew (or at least whoever was left standing) headed off to the director's house for a 'debrief'.

Although we were all worn out, we managed a few drinks, a bit of music, a lot of laughs and some verbal abuse - 'Shut Up' and 'Clown' seemed really funny at the time, believe me. I crawled into bed at 4.am.

Last night, though, I slept for almost 12 hours - and I feel much better for it.

Thanks guys - we put on a great show and had a great time. Now, which musical are we going to present next time?

On The Wall.

On the weekend, while travelling to Continuum, I spent some time looking at the ubiquitous tagging and graffiti that covers the train routes from and to the city. I searched for some piece of writing that was witty, intelligent or at least mildly amusing. Mostly I saw illegible scrawls, tags in letters 5 feet high but barely readable. Scribbles on top, and often another layer over that. And it's all about 'me'. My name, my tag, my identity.

I remember the same trip 25 to 30 years ago. Not as much graffiti, but what there was often included a good dose of social commentary. Or at least a laugh.

One that I recall enjoying (and seeing for many years afterwards) was around the time of the International Year of Peace. Someone had painted the peace symbol and written "International Year of the Steering Wheel" underneath.

The famous (or infamous) "Real Punks Can't Spell Cappuccino" has led to a number of imitators and varying claims of origin. I don't know if the Melbourne one was the first, but it was the one that I saw and laughed at. Years later I read a column by Mike Gibson where he wrote of a punk he'd seen with braces in her mouth, and how the reality didn't match the rebellious image.

"Yum, Yum, Worms for Tea" was a surreal moment for many years. I never quite understood it, I just enjoyed it.

But perhaps my favourite was the deliciously unintentional truth of the mis-punctuated "I'ts Only Rock 'N' Roll".

And that was exactly what Rock 'N' Roll was about before bands like Air Supply defanged it.

Feed Me!

Because I'm a drama teacher, it's kind of ironic that I don't particularly like musicals. Apart from the occasional rock opera, and a little Gilbert and Sullivan, I find them incredibly boring.

So if you're going to produce a musical it might as well be one that has Sci-Fi elements, a good dose of murder, a sadistic dentist and some great rocking 60s style tunes.

Tonight was opening night of Little Shop of Horrors, our high school production for the year. As the producer, I got to walk around and pretend to be important while the director and crew actually did all the work.

And what a fantastic job they've done.

It was an absolute blast to be involved in and a joy to watch. The kids sang, danced and acted their hearts out, and very obviously had a wonderful time doing it.

Of course the dentist stole the show, but Audrey II, as pictured above, (and that's before she grew!) was wonderful too.

Now, if only I could select which students this man-eater deigned to chew upon.......

Only four more nights til I can get some sleep!

Galaxies By Gaslight.

Off to Continuum 5 tomorrow for the weekend. I'm really looking forward to it. Looks like some great panels and workshops, and it'll be great to catch up with a few people again. Sean Williams is a surprise late addition - he wasn't going to be coming along but this morning I noticed his name added to the program. It'll be good to see Felicity Dowker again, as well as hopefully meeting a few new people.

This year's theme is Steampunk. I've checked out the program, made a list of the sessions I'd like to attend, made a list of the stuff I need to bring with me, and made a list of the lists I've made.

The Emperor's New Clothes.

I recently saw Neil Young in concert, and during the show it occurred to me that he was still relevant and vital. Even his recent albums have been strong. (OK, maybe not Living With War, but at least that had a purpose!)

You see, I had this theory that it was hard to be an inspiring (and inspired) artist when you’re a sixty-something multi-millionaire. Can you be an ‘angry young lion’ when you sleep on 1000 count Egyptian cotton sheets, with a dozen expensive cars parked in the garage on your ranch?

Over the past few years, the dinosaurs of rock (Dylan, McCartney and so on) have received great reviews for new albums. On its release, I listened to the McCartney album, Memory Almost Full, and was thrilled I hadn’t actually purchased it. And yet people raved about it.

What is it I am missing?

I'm a Beatle (and a Paul) completist (Yes, I even have mono mixes of Ram) but I can't understand the high praise for this piece of crap.

I found it to be sedate, pedestrian, uninspired and quite dull - the sort of throw-aways that show Paul is sorely lacking a foil, someone who'll look him in the eye and tell him that a song is substandard.

Would an unknown artist have even landed a deal with this disc as a demo? I'd be surprised.

The best album since...? Well, to be honest that's not hard -- Paul's releases over the past decade or two have been scattershot at best. And although Chaos and Creation had moments, it wasn't as superb as people claimed.

Paul stated somewhere that this album was mostly written (and even recorded) before the previous album, which means it's not a response to the divorce.

What a shame! Maybe a bit of anger and angst is what he needs.....

Maybe people are so desperate for new Beatle product that any glimmer of hope is immediately seized upon and put on a pedestal. Thank goodness Neil is around to carry the torch.

Dear Sir Or Madam, Will You Read My Book?

The end of the year is rapidly approaching and I don’t have time for all the things I want to do.

I wish I didn’t have to work so I could spend more time writing, but the truth of the matter is I need to make the time to write.

When I do finally isolate myself, and believe me I need to be alone, I’m quite productive. But like most people I feel I have so much to do that I feel guilty when I sit and write.

I can’t listen to music when I write – although I’ve never tried any sort of instrumental music. I really love my music, and I find I can’t just listen to it as background. It’s the same when I’m marking papers. Even a quick “How’s it going?” from my wife throws out my rhythm completely.

But I love writing, and I recently decided that I was going to spend more time practising the craft. I’ve recently entered a couple of competitions. (I entered one a few months ago, but didn’t place. Bah! What does a published author turned judge know about good writing?) One of these competitions, Writers of the Future, has excellent prizes – trips to the US for workshops, cash, large shiny trophies, awards ceremonies – but also has a lot of stiff competition.

I live in hope.